


love like roots

by oceansgrey



Category: Naruto
Genre: Adultery, Cheating, F/M, Getting Together, M/M, Other, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansgrey/pseuds/oceansgrey
Summary: Madara loves Hashirama, yet he's married to Mito.He hated her, yet they both bond over the giant of a man they love, and things get complicated from there.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara, Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Mito
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67





	love like roots

Mito woke up in an empty bed once again, Hashirama’s side void of his warmth. Tobirama must have come earlier in the morning to drag her husband from her grasp, keeping him locked away in the Hokage’s office, working on endless correspondences to the other growing nations and villages.

Tobirama, who scoffed at her whenever Mito brought up her own opinions on political matters within the village. Her dear brother-in-law, who seemed to hate her foreignness and the customs she had brought into the Senju home upon entering the marriage, jealous of her fuinjutsu mastery. Her brother-in-law, responsible for tearing her husband from her side and swaying Hashirama’s pacifist ideals.

She frowned, feeling a spike of anger flow through her, warm like magma. The seal on her stomach, the carefully crafted seal she had created, seemed to burn warm with the anger she was starting to feel.

A pawn in some loose alliance with Uzushio, sent off by her own father as a sacrificial virgin lamb to be married off to the man being touted as the ‘God of Shinobi’. Hashirama was sweet and caring, and while their engagement and wedding had been rushed, the past few months of what she had wanted to call wedded bliss had been mainly filled with Hashirama being stuck in meeting upon meeting with the clan leaders. Her husband spent more time with the villagers than with his own wife.

Mito drew her knees closer to her chest, pressing her face into her hands. She felt more of a trophy that had been won rather than the wife of the Hokage. She had been the most powerful kunoichi in her village and now she lived like the princess everyone called her, sitting around in ornate kimonos and sipping tea alone. 

There was also another contender to her husband’s time and heart, as much as she hated to admit it.

Mito remembered the first time she met him. He had stood behind Hashirama, clad in the dark robes of his clan with the tomoe of his eyes shifting into its dangerous pattern, a blood red warning to stay away from what he had claimed as his. Hashirama had greeted her with a warm hug and a peck on the cheek, happy to finally meet his fiancée. Madara had sneered down at her and the welcome banquet Hashirama had thrown for her arrival had been full of scathing insults thrown at her based on her accent and the stark color of her hair. Hashirama had tried his best to curb Madara’s abrasive personality, spending the night reassuring her that Madara was just going through a hard time in his personal life, still having trouble adjusting to living in the village. Mito had barely batted a lash at the insults. She had heard worse.

Madara had refused to attend their wedding, having left the village the day they had set the date.

She had been there at the valley. It had occurred not even three days after her wedding. She had seen the aftermath of what was whispered amongst the villagers as a legendary battle. Mito had come with Tobirama, and while he had tried to shield her, there was no denying the sight she had seen.

Her husband, clinging to his dearest friend, a sword driven through Madara’s middle as Hashirama cried and pressed kisses to his face, working his healing jutsu on the wounds he had inflicted, the Kyubi lying unconscious in the wake of their battle. Proclamations of love and promises to remain in the village whispered between the two despite the unexpected spectators hearing every word.

That night, she had sealed the Kyubi into herself with the reluctant help of Tobirama, while Hashirama and Madara were taken back to their home to recuperate.

Things had changed, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

Mito heaved a sigh, deciding not to mope on it any longer. She stretched her arms before bundling up her long hair and pinning it up before moving to get dressed for her morning date.

Madara hated mornings.

Mornings with Mito made things only a bit more tolerable, however, easy on his still sore eyes.

“What do you think of that one?” Mito asked, pointing a perfectly manicured finger towards the young shinobi across the road who was aiding an elder with groceries. “He’s got nice bone structure,”

“His nose is crooked,” Madara frowned, taking a sip of his coffee. “He’s not that handsome. What about her?”

He jerked his thumb behind him, drawing Mito’s gaze to the sweet waitress that had served them.

“She’s pretty,” Mito hummed, eyeing the piece of shortcake on Madara’s plate. “Her eyes are a lovely shade of chestnut. Are you ever going to find a man you find handsome?”

“I think so,” he said. “I think there’s also a woman I would even admit is beautiful in front of me,”

Mito fought back the smirk that threatened to break its way across her face. Instead of letting him know his subtle way of flirting was working, she reached over and used her fork to take a piece of his shortcake while he was too busy looking at her.

“Finally,” Hashirama sighed, laying down in bed, muscles sore. “I’m home,”

“I can see that,” Mito said, smiling down at him. She leaned down to press a kiss to his nose, enjoying the way his face scrunched up. “All gambled out?”

Hashirama nodded, pressing his face into his pillow. Mito swung her leg over to straddle his hips, skilled hands that could kill working on the knots of his back. He moaned at how nice it felt, her little fingers digging at the tightened muscle.

“I saw you earlier at the cafe,” he said, turning his head to the side to get a glance at his beautiful wife. “I’m so happy you and Madara are getting along,”

“Is that so?” Mito hummed, working on his shoulders.

“What changed?”

“I suppose he and I put aside our original biases towards one another and realized it would be for the best to be friendly,” she said, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck.

Hashirama turned to pull her close to him, pressing her head to his chest as he began to play with her hair. Mito relaxed into his embrace, content in just spending quiet time with him. Soon, the quiet night air was filled with small talk of the village, little things that just popped into Hashirama’s mind, anything and everything Mito felt like chiming in.

She loved him so much, and with her hand on his chest, she could feel the pounding of his heart, a rhythm she would never tire of hearing.

The Hokage’s office was always empty by midnight, void of Tobirama rambling about the best logical solution for any of Konoha’s problems. Tonight it wasn’t, Madara straddling Hashirama’s lap as they sat at his desk, holding one another.

“I missed you, Hashirama,” Madara said quietly, lips so close to Hashirama’s that they barely touched.

“You were gone too long,” Hashirama said, a hand coming to cup at Madara’s cheek. “I’m never sending you to Iwa again,”

“A wise decision,”

Hashirama silenced any further protest of being sent as a diplomat with a kiss, enjoying the heat of their kiss. Kissing Madara was like standing near a raging fire, and Hashirama wanted to be engulfed in it, let all his responsibilities burn away until it was nothing but ash.

Madara deepened the kiss, a small part of him realizing that kissing Mito was a lot like kissing Hashirama.

She can be without her husband for a little while longer, he decided, helping Hashirama slip out of his pants.

Mito sat across from Madara at the table, tracing the rim of her teacup with her finger.

“You were with him last night,” she said, cutting to the chase.

Madara looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes a bit more predominant and darker, eyes bloodshot.

“You didn’t even bother hiding the marks he gave you,” she scoffed. “Whore,”

“Like you’re any better,” he shot back, body screaming in residual ache from being bent over the Hokage’s desk and pressed up against the wall. “I saw the scratches down his back, tramp,”

Mito laughed, hearty and beautiful like her.

“He’s good,” she said, handing him the small jar of fresh honey.

“That he is,”

“Need a cane to walk today, or will you just lie to your clansmen and say you were up ‘training’ all night?”

Madara rolled his eyes, ignoring Mito’s teasing.

“Where is he?”

“Sleeping,” Mito said, tilting her head in the direction to their bedroom. “You did a number on him. He’ll have to wear a scarf for the rest of the week unless he decides to heal himself,”

“I don’t see why he would. Why get rid of a good reminder?”

The front door slammed open, and Madara and Mito shared a disgusted look as Tobirama came into the room.

“Nice to see you two lounging about doing nothing,” he said, eyes darting between the two. “Madara, Kagami was looking for you. Mito, where’s Hashirama?”

“Asleep,” Mito said, setting her teacup down a tad bit too hard. “He had a long night last night. I suggest you let your brother catch up on his sleep. He’s no good if you run him ragged,”

Tobirama narrowed his eyes.

“As if you two aren’t already doing a good enough job at distracting him from his job,”

Heavy footsteps padded down the hallway, Hashirama appearing in the doorway. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, yukata loose to reveal the pectorals that Madara loved dearly. Mito gave a small smile once she saw the deep love bites littering Hashirama’s neck, some faded that she gave him, the dark purple nips that now bloomed by his jugular a mark obviously from Madara.

“Good morning,” he said, giving everyone in the room a tired smile. “Good morning, beautiful wife,”

He knelt down to kiss Mito’s cheek, missing the glance she cast towards Madara.

“Good morning, Madara. Morning, Tobirama,”

“Elder brother,” Tobirama snapped. “The diplomat from Kiri is waiting in your office, and has been for the past _hour_ ,”

Madara didn’t hide his smirk once the realization dawned upon Hashirama’s face, his beloved mokuton user instantly awake as he turned on his heel and ran to go get dressed for the day. Mito let out a giggle, hiding it behind her hand.

Tobirama looked between the two, frowning deeper than usual.

“I know what you two are doing,” he said. “And I suggest you stop it before you hurt my brother,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Madara lied.

“I’m the best sensor in this village, and you two weren’t exactly quiet when I stopped by the other day,” Tobirama glared. “End it, or tell him before I do,”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Mito threatened.

“I-”

“I’m ready!” Hashirama shouted, rushing back into the room in his Hokage robes, hand out to grab Tobirama’s arm. “Bye, Madara! Bye, Mito! Love you!”

Mito waved as her husband rushed out of the room with her disgruntled brother-in-law. She sighed, turning her gaze back to her paramour.

Her stomach felt like it was in knots, but not from the Kyubi.

Madara truly didn’t know how to feel about any of this.

Laying on Hashirama’s side of the bed, a hand on Mito’s bare back gently stroking her delicate shoulders, he wondered how things came this way. He felt something akin to the love he held for Hashirama when he looked at the fiery woman beside him, snoring away softly as she took a brief nap. Not many people knew what Mito looked like when she let her hair down, falling across the soft silk sheets like fire, fire the same color as the one Madara was known to use during battle. No one in the village public eye had seen her dressed down like a civilian, her makeup always done to perfection, clothes fitting on her as if she were a goddess. Here, however, sleeping soundly, face clean, Mito could just be herself within the confines of the room, freckles spattered across her nose and cheeks that otherwise would be covered in a layer of makeup.

He had hated her. He remembered seeing her, escorted by her father into the village, dressed up like some sort of doll for Hashirama. A rival for Hashirama’s love, he wanted to embarrass her, resent her and he hoped she had been some wicked, vile woman that Hashirama could never love.

He also knew his Hashirama, and had for years, and the idiot fell in love immediately. Hours of screaming and fighting back and forth about the village and the wedding caused them to shift apart, and then Madara was leaving the night of their wedding to hunt down the Kyubi to try to destroy the village, scorned with an aching heart.

Waking up from his injuries that night to see Hashirama holding Mito, whispering in her ear and pressing soft kisses to her cheek had made his chest ache. He had thought that Hashirama would never love him the same way.

Then, Tobirama interfered. The First Kage Summit occurred, an event Tobirama had prevented Madara from going to, and soon enough, Hashirama seemed over his head in paperwork on treaties and alliances and working on battle plans in case of war breaking out.

It was Mito who approached him, teary-eyed as she admitted in the privacy of Madara’s home that she knew her husband loved him more than he would ever love her, afraid that it would not the same and she would always be the one left behind. Mito, who just wanted to feel welcome in the village, feeling shunted by her new family.

Mito was a way to fill the hole in his heart Hashirama had left, soft and inviting. Mito did it because she knew Hashirama loved Madara more than he loved her. Madara did it solely to try to come to an understanding of why Hashirama would choose her over him, what made the Uzumaki princess so special. They were both a replacement for the giant of a man who had carved his way into their hearts, and the absence left by that love drew them closer together. These trysts, secretive and short, genuinely made him happy. He enjoyed spending time with Mito, not just for the sex, but also for her companionship. Getting to go out for tea and gossip amongst themselves, telling truths and lies and sharing laughter, it felt wonderful. Madara had looked forward to the times where he just got to sit by her side in his home, relaxing in the afternoon as she began to ramble about the seals she was crafting while he got a break from his clan.

His heart still ached as he looked at the golden band on her ring finger, a glaring reminder that she took Hashirama from him.

She had won, but she now shared herself with him because of Hashirama’s absence.

Madara had wanted an ally, Mito had wanted a friend in a village so foreign.

Mito groaned slightly, shifting and drawing the blanket up over her bare form.

“Stop rubbing my shoulders. It tickles, you know,” she said, yawning. “Hashirama will be home soon,”

“I know,”

Mito shifted, throwing an arm lazily over his shoulder and guiding him to rest his head on her chest. She loved to run her fingers through his hair, feeling at ease as he wrapped an arm around her tightly.

All good things came to an end, and Madara and Mito wanted to hold onto it as long as they could before the inevitable.

Madara and Mito agreed on a few things and disputed several others.

One thing they both agreed on was the shared hatred of banquets and diplomatic dinners that Hashirama insisted on dragging them both to, Madara because he was the co-founder of the village and Mito because she was his wife.

“Look at the Tsuchikage’s wife,” Mito smirked, hiding the sly smile behind her fan as she whispered to Madara. “Her eyeshadow is atrocious,”

“It looks like she smeared dirt on her face,” Madara said.

“Who’s the runt by the Tsuchikage’s side?”

“The bench-sitter is there as well? What a horrid looking entourage,”

“Is the Mizukage blind in one eye?”

“Yes. He’s looking more like a bag of dust as these meetings go on. I doubt he could even lift one of those Seven Swords the Mist loves to brag about,”

“Don’t send in the Suna fan users. They might blow the poor elder away,”

“Don’t get me _started_ on the Kazekage,”

“Would you two quit gossiping like two twaddle baskets?” Tobirama hissed, glaring at the two. “You’re here to represent the village,”

“I didn’t ask to be here,” Madara said, raising an eyebrow at the younger Senju. “Don’t you have something better to do than babysit Mito and I as if we were children?”

“I didn’t want you to be here, but Hashirama insisted,” Tobirama rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have to babysit you two dolts if you actually knew how to behave. Mito, at least pretend to have some manners,”

“I have no need to pretend, dear brother,” Mito snapped her fan shut, and Madara could feel the anger in her chakra spike up. “I apologize. We’ll be on our best behavior, won’t we?”

“I suppose so,” Madara said, watching Hashirama speak quietly to the Kazekage. The stern look on the Kazekage’s face and the sudden flicker of anger across Hashirama’s face worried him. The two were already at odds despite just having the summit due to hostilities from Suna and it seemed no matter what Hashirama tried to do the Kazekage would not be appeased.

“Behave for two minutes while I go speak to my brother,” Tobirama said, disappearing amongst the crowd and off towards Hashirama.

An arm snaked its way around Madara’s, and he felt more at ease knowing Mito was by his side.

“Those dumplings from Kumo look rather tasty,” Mito said, shooting him a sly look. “It would be such a shame if they were all gone before a certain brother-in-law got to taste them,”

Madara couldn’t turn down being her partner in crime, letting Mito drag him over to the reception table.

Hashirama was almost getting through to the Kazekage when Tobirama stormed over to him. His younger brother was obviously angry, face set in a deep scowl as he immediately gripped Hashirama’s arm and pulled him away.

“Tobirama, I was in the middle of discussing-”

“Will you shut up for a minute?” Tobirama hissed, dragging him off to an empty room. He made sure the door was locked before turning back to his elder brother.

He loved his brother, his only surviving family member. As much as he hated Madara, and was indifferent to Mito, he really didn’t want to hurt him, but it needed to be said.

“Madara and Mito have been sneaking around behind your back,” Tobirama said. “They’ve been sleeping together,”

Tobirama waited for Hashirama to respond, watching his brother’s face for any sign of emotion.

“Okay,” Hashirama shrugged. “I don’t see why you had to pull me aside to tell me that. Can I please get back to talking to the Kazekage?”

“You-” Tobirama sputtered. “Are you not mad?”

“No, not really,” Hashirama said. “I kind of figured as much. I love them both, and if they’re happy together too, then what’s the problem?”

Tobirama was too stunned to respond, watching as his brother left the room to return to the banquet.

Hashirama found them sitting in the garden hours later once the party began to die down, Madara asleep and leaning onto Mito’s shoulder.

“Shh,” she hushed softly, a hand gently carding through Madara’s hair.

Hashirama smiled, sitting next to her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close and pressing his head onto her unoccupied shoulder.

“We had too much food and sake, and came out here,” she explained, a soft smile as she looked at Madara. “And we were talking about clan politics before he fell asleep mid-rant,”

“That’s Madara,” Hashirama said fondly, remembering all the times he used to sneak out to go spend time with his love. “The night’s almost over,”

“Good,” Mito said, resting her cheek atop Madara’s head, sighing. “I’m exhausted. My feet hurt,”

“I’ll rub them for you when we get home,”

“Are we bringing Madara home, too?”

Hashirama chuckled low, pressing a kiss to Mito’s temple.

Madara woke up slowly in the morning, feeling the warm rays of the sun on his face. He was reluctant to open his eyes, instead pressing his face into whoever he had his arms wrapped around. He almost didn’t notice the person at his back.

Wait.

Madara sat up with a start, eyes wide, Sharingan ready.

“’dara, go back to sleep,” Hashirama mumbled, throwing his arm back over Madara’s waist and trying to pull him back down into bed.

Madara laid back down reluctantly, blinking in confusion. Hashirama was cuddled up on his right, Mito curled up on his left.

He was in their bed, and his first instinct was to get up and run.

“Go back to sleep,” Hashirama insisted, a hand coming to rest above where Madara’s heart rammed into his ribcage.

He rested his head on Madara’s chest, pulling the blanket back up over them. Mito had stolen the other blanket, her back turned to the boys as she curled up into a ball.

“Love you,” Hashirama said, leaning up to press a kiss to Madara’s cheek.

“I love you, too,”

“Love you three,” Mito mumbled from her side, turning to blink sleepily at her men. “Go back to bed,”

Madara wanted to argue, instead opting to close his eyes and let Mito and Hashirama’s calming breathing lull him back to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think! :)


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